


The Man in the Living Room

by Dopredo



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Developing Relationship, False Memories, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Imagining Them Bursting Into Song Randomly, Idiots in Love, M/M, Memories, Mystery, OTP Feels, Protective Curt Mega, Protectiveness, Sick Character, Spies & Secret Agents, Sweet, Tags Are Hard, Unimportant References to StarKid Musicals, Walk Into A Bar, With A Twist, tin can brothers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-07-11 16:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19930741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dopredo/pseuds/Dopredo
Summary: “Curt bit his lip. If he didn’t kill him, Owen could bring about catastrophic changes that the world just wasn’t ready for. If he did kill him, he would carry the guilt with him for the rest of his life, and above that, would never be able to see the man he loved again.There was only one thing for it: give himself more time to decide.”Was it me, or did Curt Mega seem just a little too cheerful at the end of ‘Spies Are Forever’? Perhaps there’s something he wasn’t telling us…After all, spies are forever.





	1. Simple but Tender

Curt:

Agent Curt Mega raised his gun so it was level with Owen’s face. His breathing was deep and methodical, but his mind was spinning with confusion. Could he really murder his former partner, his former lover? Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as when he’d thought he had?

“You’re really considering it, aren’t you?” Owen tutted, keeping an air of coolness, despite the situation. Curt noticed his mouth twitch slightly upwards, a nervous twitch he had first picked up on early on in their partnership, when they had been trapped in a cupboard together. Curt had leant over Owen to try and reach the door, but had misjudged it slightly, and his hand had skimmed across Owen’s cheek. Curt’s heart fluttered at the simple, but tender memory. That was the first moment he had ever considered his feelings might be reciprocated.

Owen’s mouth twitched again, and Curt ground his teeth together in frustration. “What do you expect me to do?” he exclaimed, the gun wavering in his hand. He noticed Owen’s eyes dart towards it, picking up on his shakiness, and steadied the gun quickly.

“Well, not kill me for a start,” he smiled coldly. “You already tried that, and now look where we are.”

“Owen, how could you possibly think I wanted you to die?” Curt’s voice cracked slightly under the pressure of his emotions.

“Oh, no no no. I don’t think you _intended_ for me to die. But you left me when I did… except I didn’t… die that is – I didn’t die. I mean you noticed, obviously…” he trailed off and Curt couldn’t help but smile a little; it was just like Owen to back himself into a corner but still pretend he was totally in control of the situation.

Curt bit his lip. If he didn’t kill him, Owen could bring about catastrophic changes that the world just wasn’t ready for. If he did kill him, he would carry the guilt with him for the rest of his life, and above that, would never be able to see the man he loved again.

There was only one thing for it: give himself more time to decide.

“So? What are you going to do?” Owen taunted.

Curt smiled defiantly. “This.”

With the speed of a striking adder, he pointed the gun towards Owen’s right knee and fired two shots. Owen’s leg buckled beneath him, and Curt took the opportunity to lunge towards him, with full force, smashing the gun against his head. For a moment, Owen just looked dazed (Curt was sure he could see stars flying round his head) and then, as though he had lost all sense of balance, Owen fell backwards and collapsed to the ground.

* * *

* * *

Owen:

Owen had never meant for Curt to become involved in all his spy-business (after all, he had heard that he’d retired). Honestly, seeing Curt for the first time after all those years had been quite a shock, and Owen had reacted in the only way he knew how – by lashing out. After all, Curt _had_ left him for dead… and a little bit of torture never hurt anyone. Had that rude Russian woman not interrupted, everything would have gone perfectly: he could have got revenge on Curt through torture, before explaining everything to him, and hoping he wasn’t too mad that he’d pulled his tooth out.

The problem was, now Curt thought he was a psychopath and was totally out to get him (Owen considered only the first of these to be true), which meant there was no chance Curt would trust his word.

That’s why, when Curt had stood on the stairs holding a gun to his head, Owen had thought that it was the end for him. In fact (although the whole thing had gone quite fast) he was extremely surprised when Curt had turned the gun towards his legs. In the brief seconds before he blacked out, Owen had wondered what had convinced him not to put a bullet straight through his skull.

* * *

* * *

Curt:

Curt sighed yet again as he paced up and down his mother’s living room, glancing nervously at the chained-up heap that was Owen Carvour. Any second, Owen could wake up, and he was going to have to face having a conversation with him – that was scarier than any villain he’d ever encountered. Biting his lip, he sat down on the sofa opposite, gazing at the other man. Owen looked much less threatening asleep. It was only when his mum walked in that he realised he hadn’t looked away for quite a few minutes.

“You’re thinking about what you’re going to say to him, aren’t you?” she tutted, shaking her head. “I remember when that British chap hadn’t a villainous bone in his body…”

“Mom, do you mind?”

Curt’s mother shrugged vaguely, and placed down the tray in her hands, which had on top of it an old teapot and a few mugs.

“Since when did we drink tea?” Curt queried, tracing his finger across the teapot lid, creating a valley of dust.

Curt’s mother laughed, rolling her eyes as though this was the dumbest thing Curt had ever said. She pointed at Owen and then busied herself with the teapot. “He’s _British_ ,” she mused, “even though he’s tied up, we can at least be good hosts.” At that she began to move towards the exit, Curt calling behind her jokingly.

“I really hope he heard that, because he definitely wouldn’t appreciate the…”

“… Generalisation?” Owen stirred and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with surprising elegance. “Although I must admit, I do _love_ a good cup of tea after a long sleep. How long have I been out?”

A spark of electricity jolted up Curt’s spine at the sound of his voice.

 _Well then, I suppose this conversation is happening now_ , he thought.

“You’ve been out about two days.”

“Oh wow, really. I think I’m getting old.”

“You do look it.”

“Oh, _really_?” Owen smiled carelessly at their banter, reminiscent of the old days, and then clenched his jaw angrily. “What am I doing here, Curt? Why am I not dead?”

Curt took a second to process this question, realising that the truth (that he couldn’t bare to murder his ex-lover as he couldn’t handle yet again being in a world without him) would boost Owen’s ego far too much, and would give him a power he couldn’t afford to lose.

“I… I…” Curt coughed nervously. “I couldn’t kill you as I need you…”

“You _need_ me?” Owen teased.

“I need you to help bring down Chimera,” Curt spluttered, exhaling quickly in the hope that he had lied with some efficiency. For a spy, he was a terrible liar, but he was particularly unfortunate around Owen, as he always saw straight through him.

“ _Right_. Chimera.” Owen’s eyes twinkled cheekily.

_Damn it. He’s seen straight through me. How does he do that?!_

Curt huffed and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Why did Owen always manage to get in his head? “Look, just tell me what you know. And then I will _consider_ letting you go.”

“OK… _let me see_ … No.”

“What?”

“I’m not telling you anything?”

“Why not?”

“Because, what’s in it for me?”

Curt shrugged and nodded towards the handcuffs, and Owen chuckled. “What, you think your _consideration_ of my freedom is enough to make me betray Chimera? Ahh Curt, you always were very optimistic.”

“OK, fine. What do you want?”

Owen paused, contemplating. “Nothing you can give me.”

Curt’s heart sank, but he didn’t let it show. “Fine. Then you can stay here.” Curt got up and began to move towards the door. “I hope you enjoy yourself around my mother – she tends to go off on one surrounding the topics of wild newts and heterosexual relationships. I’m sure you’ll find it very… fascinating.” Owen pulled a face of pain, and narrowed his eyes as Curt turned around in the doorway. “I’ll be back to discuss this further… as in the Chimera thing… not newts… in about a month or two.”

“A month?!”

“Or two.”

Owen’s eyes filled with terror at the thought of being trapped for that long with Curt’s mother. “Wait! Come back!”

Curt slipped his head round the doorway one last time, winked and then disappeared.


	2. What He Wants to See

Owen:

The next month and a half had dragged on for Owen, quite understandably. After the incident of his short-lived escape (Curt’s mum had untied him so he could go to the toilet – Owen had hit her on the head with a frying pan and run for the door, but it turned out Curt’s mom was more than a match for Owen when she clobbered him round the head with a utensil draw and threatened to cut off his pony tail) Owen had been locked in a bedroom with an en-suit, instead of being chained up to the radiator. But the larger space only helped the boredom slightly. With no one around to torture or murder, Owen’s attention began to turn to the memories he’d had with Curt. It was strange how the more he reminisced, the less he thought about his near-death experience, and the less it seemed to matter to him that Curt had left him for dead.

“I bet that’s why he locked me in here,” Owen grumbled. “Well it’s not going to work!” he screamed, as though Curt was listening. He smashed his fist against the wall in frustration, and heard Owen’s mum (who he’d discovered was called Julia) tut from outside. “Sorry Mrs Mega,” he coughed, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment.

“You boys… always punching things,” she sighed. “Don’t you go ruining my walls now.”

“I was just letting out some up pent frustration,” Owen grimaced in the most cheerful tone he could muster, and then wondered why he wanted his capturer to like him. Did he want to impress Julia because he wanted Curt to care for him again? Surely not.

It was during this moment that Owen’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. He must have been thinking so hard that he had missed the sound of someone entering the house, because he was shocked out of his wits when a large man, wearing dark sunglasses and an unreadable expression busted down his door (despite the knocking) and handed him a gun.

“Um… thanks? Sorry to be rude but… who are you, and why are you busting down my door?”

“I was sent by Chimera,” the man grunted. Owen, seeing he wasn’t about to offer any more information, pressed with the questions.

“How did you know where I was?” he asked, and then in sudden realisation, “You didn’t hurt Julia, did you?” Owen ran towards the kitchen in panic. Noticing that Julia was tied up with duct tape across her mouth, and (apart from her frustrated attempts to speak) seemed happy enough, Owen sprinted to catch up with the man (who had already left the house and was now walking towards the car).

“Get in.”

Owen raised an eyebrow distrustfully. “No _please_?”

The man stared at him, seemingly void of any reaction, so Owen shrugged and got into the car.

* * *

* * *

Curt:

Curt followed the car carefully for the next few hours and (to avoid suspicion) made sure he always remained one-or-two cars behind. After about six hours, the black Aston Martin in front pulled up next to a shady-looking building with boarded-up windows. Curt parked a few streets down (he knew Owen was the kind of man to notice small details like that) and then walked around to the back of the building. Its rear was just as ugly. Dusty orange paint peeled off the walls in every place possible and, what appeared to be a few shoddy pipes of lead held up what was left of the roof.

Gun raised, Curt snuck towards the back door (which was wide open) and crept inside. As he expected, the place was empty – clearly the other agents had been following their orders. This made it easy for Curt to climb the stairs without being noticed.

Upstairs was clearly where all the action was happening. Curt knelt low down on the dusty grey staircase, and hoped to God that none of the steps would creak. Listening closely to the hushed voices in the room next to him, he was able to make out a conversation between Owen and a few other agents – two, most likely.

“… it’s impressive you managed to stay sane cooped up in the that house for so long,” a female voice croaked. Curt heard Owen laugh gently – he could detect a level of sadness in his voice when he spoke.

“Well, I’m not fully sure I did.”

Curt frowned, wondering what that meant.

“There are some rumours about you and that… Curt Mega,” another voice growled. “It does make me wonder if you can be trusted.”

Owen didn’t reply to that, but in his silence, Curt could tell he was smiling.

“What can you tell us about Agent Mega… to prove your… devotion to our cause?”

“I don’t see what Curt Mega has to do with our cause,” Owen responded, with a hint of irritation. This response surprised Curt, because Owen was always totally direct in response to these types of questions… unless of course his answer was something he couldn’t say.

“It has everything to do with it. We need to know you are loyal; that you are devoted to our agency.”

“I’m a spy… loyalty is not my most valuable asset. And as for devotion… well, I like to think I am devoted to my work – but my work doesn’t end with Chimera. This is just one project… one mission, so to speak. A spy’s work is never done.”

“ _Yes_ , but what do you know about Mega?”

“Nothing. At least, not anything of use. ”

_What_?! Curt thought. Owen Carvour is lying TO CHIMERA to save my skin?! _Why would he do that_?!

It was at that moment that Curt noticed that the air had been filled with the gentle smell of citrus. Citrus? He turned around quietly to try to figure out where it was coming from, and that’s when he noticed the huge man behind him.

“How the hell did _you_ creep up on me?!” Curt blurted out. The voices in the room opposite fell silent and Curt grimaced. The truly giant man reached out and grabbed Curt by his collar, leading (and half-carrying) him into the room. Owen and the other two agents stared at him in confusion.

“Curt,” Owen grumbled in greeting, “why do you always have to be such a hero?”

The other agents looked between Curt and Owen and the female agent smiled slyly. “Why don’t you both take a seat,” she said as Curt was forced into a chair in the middle of the room, and his hands were tied behind his back. “And you.” She looked at Owen expectantly.

“Oh, no, I’m good thanks.”

“You don’t have much of a choice in the matter.” She turned to the mammoth agent wearing the (very feminine) citrus perfume and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure little Owen here can be trusted,” she cooed.

“Little?” Curt sniggered, making Owen fight against a smile. The woman glared at Curt and he bit back his next retort. She turned her attention back to Owen and he raised his hands in sarcastic surrender, his eyes still glinting with the trace of a smile.

“ _Sit_ ,” she growled _._ The citrus man walked towards Owen who was beginning to look slightly uncomfortable, pulled his gun from his pocket and pushed him into the chair with its back to Curt’s. He tied Owen’s hands to Curt’s and then added a pair of handcuffs, just for good measure.

“It’s not so fun being the prisoner, is it?” Curt growled, turning his head towards Owen behind him.

“What are you on about?” Owen hissed, “I’ve literally been trapped in your bedroom for the last month and a half!”

“Fair point… But I was on about that time you pulled my tooth out… you know, when you _almost murdered me_.”

“I was not about to murder you—”

“—You were holding a fricken sword to my throat!”

“Everyone should have a sword, OK. I was just trying to scare you. _You_ almost killed me too—”

“—But I didn’t!!!”

“Neither did I!!”

“DO YOU PEOPLE MIND?!” the female agent screeched, ending their conversation abruptly.

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“I hate you,” Curt whispered, and the woman glared at him.

“Now Owen,” the bony woman croaked, “Since Curt is now present with us, would you like to share the information you were planning on giving us?”

“Ah, yes. Back to business…” Owen paused for a few seconds, clearly considering his answer, and then Curt felt him grab his wrist tightly. Curt’s heart raced slightly, and he wondered whether it was due to the physical contact or purely out of panic that Owen was about to divulge his secrets. He was kidding himself, of course it was because of the physical contact. Owen released his hand and began to talk. “Curt Mega is the most arrogant man you’ll ever meet. He always needs to be the hero, and can never accept when he isn’t the best,” he turned his head towards Curt’s and whispered. “Which you’re not.” Curt didn’t react, so Owen felt he had to clarify. “The best… you’re not the best. I’m the best.”

“Yeah, I got it. Stop telling them my secrets,” Curt growled.

“That wasn’t a secret. Everyone knows I’m the best.”

Suddenly Curt realised that Owen was right. He actually hadn’t given anything away yet… and he _was_ the best spy he knew, apart from himself of course. If Owen wasn’t about to tell them everything, what was he doing? He had to have a plan.

Curt’s mind raced to figure out what Owen was doing, meanwhile Owen continued to drabble pointless information that sounded relatively useful.

“…is no match for the British Agency, of course. He tried to get me to transfer so many times, the poor sod.” Owen laughed gently, “I had him totally fooled. After all, a man will see what he wants to see.”

That last line was like a punch to the gut. Curt’s heart raced in panic, and yet again he felt his veins fill with sorrow and resentment. The bloody mixture surged around his body, infecting him. It felt as though every molecule of his body had been given the singular purpose of feeling nothing more than betrayed.

Had Owen fooled him from the start?

* * *

* * *

_2 Minutes Earlier_

Owen:

“Ah, yes. Back to business…” Owen paused for a few seconds, considering his answer. What should he do? In this second he had the choice to either betray Curt, or the _entirety_ of Chimera. A few months ago, it would’ve been an easier choice, as he had still been angry with Curt for abandoning him, but now…

What was he thinking?! Betraying chimera… Surely he wasn’t considering it… Curt probably didn’t even like him – better yet, he probably _hated_ him… hadn’t he said so just a moment ago?

_But what if…?_

The moment crept on, and Owen became unbearably aware that he hadn’t yet spoken.

If he _knew_ that Curt still liked him, would it even change his decision? He decided it would.

_But how could I know?_

Suddenly Owen remembered a trick he had used a few times when he’d first got together with Curt. He had wanted to be sure that he wasn’t seeing what he wanted to see. 

Owen reached out and grabbed Curt’s wrist. He held three fingers tightly against Curt’s wrist and squeezed gently. Curt’s pulse rate went though the roof.

Owen bit back a smile and released Curt’s wrist. He had his decision, now all he had to do was fool Curt.

“Curt Mega is the most arrogant man you’ll ever meet.” 


	3. Nincompoop

Owen:

Owen was a master at deception. It was the first thing they had taught him when he had joined the British Agency, and he had excelled at it so much he had quickly moved up the ranks. Now he had to deceive Curt. 

He quickly put a plan together in his head, and hoped that Curt would follow relatively closely to what he’d predicted. Unfortunately, Curt was a loose cannon, and Owen knew this, so he allowed for some flexibility on his part. First he had to convince Curt that he had never cared for him. Although it hurt to do so, Owen knew it would help him in the end, so didn’t feel too guilty.

“Do want me to prove it you?” he hissed. Curt didn’t respond, which was a good sign. If he couldn’t think of anything to say back, it meant his emotions were getting to his head. “Agent Bartley,” Owen smirked at the female agent, “would it be proof enough that I am in no way connected emotionally to Curt Mega, if I was to make sure he could not leave this room without being killed?”

Bartley narrowed her eyes curiously. “And how could you make sure of that?”

“By giving you an incentive.”

The woman shrugged and gave a signal for him to continue.

“There are some kinds of information that just shouldn’t leave this room,” Owen sighed melodramatically. “God forbid the Americans got their hands on it. Ha! That would be the end of Chimera... and then where would we be?” He tilted his head slightly and sat up straighter in his seat. “Curt, did I ever tell you why I killed so many women between the age 14 and 22?”

“Because you’re a sick bastard,” Curt croaked.

“ _No_. Because I didn’t kill them,” Owen smiled. “I hired them.” At this point the other agents in the room had begun to shift between their feet uneasily. “You’d be surprised how many women want to escape their lives these days… wow, the stories I heard. There was this one girl who had been locked in a shed all her life by her father and forced to make shoes. Turns out the people in Chimera need shoes too. And the whole abusive father thing just made it way easier to fake her death… he’s rotting in jail now with 20 years. I suppose everyone gets their comeuppance…”

“Yes, they do.” Curt grunted. Owen ignored him.

“There was another girl who had been made redundant and became bankrupt on the same day because she didn’t have ‘sufficient social skills’. Maybe not, but she was a whiz at computers. She’s now a leading manager for our new technology.”

“You mean… you’re _not_ a mass murderer?”

“Well I don’t know about that. I still killed a lot of people – but most of them deserved it.”

“You shot Susan.”

“I’m not saying I’m nice.” Owen swished his hair out of his face and continued. “Besides I only told you all that because it’s top secret information that you definitely are not allowed to know.” He turned his attention back towards the other agents and narrowed his eyes. “So now if you would let me go…?”

“I don’t get it…” Curt started, but was interrupted by Agent Bartley.

“Not quite yet,” she answered Owen, cutting off Curt. “I must admit, you’re pretty convincing Owen Carvour, but we still need to discuss what we’re going to do with you.”

With that, Bartley and the Citrus Man left the room, leaving Owen and Curt (still tied together) being watched only by one agent.

OK, now for step 2, Owen thought. He had pretty much convinced Chimera he was on their side; now he had to backtrack and convince Curt he was on his. The annoying thing was, there was still an agent watching them, so he couldn’t say anything that would give the game away.

Curt:

Curt wasn’t sure how he felt about Owen not really being the ‘Deadliest Man Alive’. It made it much harder to hate him, which was annoying, because he really wanted to hate him right now.

The single guard watched them intently, and for a few seconds Owen was silent, but then he couldn’t resist the urge to taunt him.

“Do you remember all those nights we spent together?” he asked, with a trace of reminiscence. “You know, where you were tied up?”

“Owen!” Curt growled, glancing nervously at the guard. “ _Don’t talk about this here._ ”

Owen ignored him and continued talking. “Do you remember that one day on your birthday, where you decided it was my turn?” Curt shrugged and Owen’s tone became a little more irritable. “ _Curt_? Do you remember what happened?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Curt hissed, blushing. “Of course I do, but I’d rather not talk about it here.”

“I don’t want you to talk about it – I want you to remember it.”

Curt tried to push the memory away, but couldn’t help letting his mind reminisce. He had been so irritated that day, when he had tied Owen’s hands tightly behind his back in handcuffs, but only minutes later Owen had taunted him by waving around his hands freely. To this day he wouldn’t tell him how he had escaped. He just said he had _“a special trick with handcuffs.”_

A special trick with handcuffs.

Surely not. Stupidly, Curt was letting himself trust Owen again. That’s all this was. No. He wouldn’t trust him this time, but—

Click.

The handcuffs snapped open behind him and Owen caught them quickly before they fell to the ground and clattered. Curt didn’t move.

He couldn’t believe it. Owen was on his side?! After all these years, how did he still mange to fool him? Curt was overwhelmed with confusion and relief, but also anger that Owen had deceived him just as part of a stupid plan.

But what were they going to do now? They could take on a single agent with a gun easily, as long as they timed it right. But how could they do that without giving away what they were about to do? It occurred to Curt that perhaps Owen hadn’t got this far in his planning, and was hoping Curt had thought of some kind of escape plan. Curt wracked his brain for something Owen would understand, and then it came to him.

“Hey Owen?” Curt asked innocently. “You know the night you were just talking about?”

“Yes,” Owen frowned.

“Do you remember the magic word I taught you?”

Owen paused and sighed disapprovingly. “Was it…” the two men paused in anticipation, both knowing what was about to happen. “Nincompoop?”

Simultaneously, Owen and Curt jumped out of their seats and tackled the other agent to the ground. The agent, totally surprised and confused, let out a squeal, which was smothered by Owen’s arm quickly. Once the agent was happily unconscious, Curt raised his hand for a high five. He put his hand down quickly, blushing deeply, when he saw the look on Owen’s face, but after a moment of contemplation, Owen grinned and raised his hand. Curt hit it as hard as he could and Owen squealed, cradling his hand sorrowfully.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Curt snorted, and Owen whined.

“But it _hurt_.”

“So did getting shot!”

“I didn’t shoot you… Oh, yeah I did, but—”

The clatter of footsteps outside cut him off, and the two men could tell there were now many more than 2 agents outside.

“Good luck, partner,” Curt smiled, turning towards his ex-rival, -partner and -lover. “Try not to die this time.”

“Likewise,” Owen grinned. “Although I would love to see your reaction. You’re ever so cute when you cry.”

“I’m cute anyway,” Curt grunted, and then changed his mind, “I mean, I’m masculine. Very male and manly and… stuff.”

Owen gave him a look that signalled his disagreement, but the smile was obvious in his eyes. The two men faced towards the door that was about to unleash hell and Curt pulled a face of distress.

There was only one way this battle could be any more dramatic: Curt opened his mouth and began to sing.  



	4. Unless You Can be Sure He’s Changed, He’ll Break Your Heart Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s probably funnier to imagine Joe Walker’s barkeeper in this chapter, even though it doesn’t make technical sense that he’s there!

“Time for a drink,” Owen said, smiling down at the bodies of the half-conscious agents who now lined the stairs. He blew on the end of his gun dramatically (despite the fact that there was no smoke emerging from it) making Curt snort and then try to disguise it with a cough.

“You’re so British,” he laughed, as Owen’s face contorted into an amused frown.

“And you’re so bloody American. I know which I’d rather be.”

Trust Owen for a witty retort. That was what had attracted Curt to him in the first place. Curt led the way down the stairs and out of the front door. “Do you know where the best place for a drink is around here?” he queried.

Owen’s mouth turned up in one corner. “I _always_ know where the best place is for a drink. I’m a proper spy.”

“You’re an arrogant spy.”

“Ha! Says you.”

Owen looked up and down the road and then started to lead the way. After a few minutes of walking, Curt realised they had arrived at his (supposedly hidden) car.

“How did you know--?” he began, and then seeing Owen’s smug face, thought better of it. Why did he have to be such a _good_ spy? Curt thought grumpily, getting into the driver’s seat.

After a few minutes driving, Curt and Owen pulled up next to a dull looking pub, named _House of Drink_. Curt didn’t think it was a particularly inventive title.

“They could’ve called it _Chateau of Cocktails_ ,” he laughed.

“Yeah, or _The Happy Home of Beverages_ ,” Owen joined in, looking equally as humoured.

“At least it’s obvious they can give us what we want. Which is pure, fresh…”

“Ethanol.”

“Do you think you could take it undiluted?” Curt teased, twisting the doorknob.

“Well of course. It’s the only way to take it.”

“Straight vodka.”

“Pure and crisp.”

The two men strode up to the bar and smiled at the barkeeper.

“Two Shirley Temples,” they said in unison.

* * *

* * *

Thirty Shirley Temples later, Owen and Curt were drunk enough to have started a conversation that couldn’t possibly have come up at any other point: women. Sometimes, in the heat of drunkenness the two men would play a game, and try to be as depressingly heterosexual as possible.

“So who’s that Russian… babe… you hang out with a lot?” Owen slurred.

“What, Tatiana?” Curt frowned. “Oh she totally fancies me…” Curt blushed, continuing to lie. “I practically had to throw her off of me one time, because she was trying to kiss me. And you know… that was only out of… politeness.” He coughed awkwardly. “I would totally…” he gave an insinuating hip movement, “with that… attractive female.”

Owen snorted and then focused his attention at the bottom of his empty glass. Neither of them wanted to say out loud what they were both thinking.

“Another drink?” Owen questioned, breaking the silence. Curt attempted to put his thumbs up, but he was so droopy it looked more like he was a child who had been stung on the hand by a bee and was showing their parents in the hope of sympathy. Luckily, Owen seemed to understand, and stood up (tottering a bit) and moved towards the bar. The barkeeper looked nervously up at Owen, which in his drunk state, angered him a bit. Maybe he had overheard their conversation about women.

“What, haven’t you ever seen drunk people before?” he slurred. “Two more Templey Shirdles, please.”

The barkeeper looked down and busied himself with the drinks, giving an occasional glance in the direction of what appeared to be the back door. Owen turned away from the drinks and glanced at Curt, who smiled back at him pallidly. There was something about him that Owen just couldn’t put his finger on – which was rare for Owen, and made him slightly uncomfortable. He had never felt the way he did towards Curt about anyone else – not ever – despite his desperate attempts, and for some reason, whenever he saw him he felt as though his whole world was brighter. Maybe that’s why he had been so tempted to remove him from the equation – with no Curt there was no temptation. Maybe then he could ignore his sexuality and continue on with life without being scared of what everyone else thought about him. After all, he was supposed to be the ‘Deadliest Man Alive’ – he shouldn’t be scared of anyone… But he couldn’t bring himself to kill Curt, and now he never would.

The barkeeper tapped him on the shoulder, and Owen whizzed around, growling (literally, growling – he’d had far too much to drink, and the barkeeper was terrified). When he realised that it was only because his drinks were ready, he changed from a growl to a cool stare, and backed away, drinks in hand (and sloshing onto the ground) still keeping eye contact with the poor barkeeper. He only released the man from his stare when he reached his seat. Turning to Curt, he handed him his drink. Tapping glasses and yelling “cheers!” much too loudly, then downed them in one.

The two men paused in anticipation of the effect of the alcohol, but the effect was much more than either was expecting. They gave each other a vacant stare and then both collapsed, headfirst to the table.

* * *

* * *

“Well, well, well…” a familiar voice poked through the comfortable nature of Curt’s unconsciousness, “look who’s coming around.” Agent Cynthia Houston had one of those voices that could penetrate through anything – Curt couldn’t have ignored her if he’d wanted to (which most of the time he did). “Wake up Mega, you stupid fucking baby. Nap time is over.”

“Trust you to be nice to me,” Curt whined, opening his eyes only a small amount. He realised that was a mistake, however when he felt a bucketful of water splash over his face. “Geez!” he squealed, jumping into the air. “ _Come on_. You never went to that lesson on kindness at the Academy, did you?”

“Actually… no. I was busy that day, learning about the incredible effect of using the word _fuck_ in a sentence. It was very insightful – I learnt a lot that day.”

“Oh, wow... That actually sounds way better…” Curt shook his head and took in the room around him. He was back at the Agency, but he had no idea how he got there. The last thing he remembered was having drinks with Owen. “Owen…” he muttered out loud.

“Ah, yes. I’m glad you brought that up,” Cynthia said calmly. Curt frowned deeply. Considering how he had lied to her about something so major, he was amazed by her tone. “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT YOU SHOT HIM WHEN IN REALITY YOU WERE KEEPING HIM IN YOUR LIVING ROOM?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CURT MEGA?! AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU! AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE TAUGHT YOU?! AND THEN YOU GO AND LIE TO ME?! DIRECTLY!!” Cynthia took a breath and patted down her clothes. “Well?” she asked.

Curt, shocked, only managed a few words. “Because… you fired me?” he winced, terrified of Cynthia’s response.

Cynthia thought for a second before turning around to face the door. “Good answer. I suppose you’re learning.” Curt was incredulous.

“So…? You’re not mad?”

“No. You can go.” She shrugged and gave herself a sly smile. “But I would be quick about it because I left a bomb under your chair.” Curt gave a high-pitched squeal and jumped off his chair, chucking it towards the far end of the room. “Just kidding,” Cynthia chortled.

“Oh, _come on_!” Curt grumbled, walking towards the door. He stopped suddenly, and turned back to Cynthia. “I just have one question for you…”

“Yes?” Cynthia mumbled, pretending to distract herself with the paperwork on her desk.

“How in the _hell_ did I get here? Last thing I remember I was with Owen. Oh yeah – where’s Owen?”

“That was two questions. But I can answer them in one… Owen woke up outside a pub called ‘House of Drink’ (bad name if you ask me) with you passed out next to him. Seemingly he had no one else to call, which is surprising considering his connections with Chimera.” Curt opened his mouth to talk, but Cynthia shook her head. “Explain it to me when you have more time,” she said, and then paused for a second, thinking. “When my agents found you both, they reported that Owen seemed… _stressed_.”

“That doesn’t sound like Owen.”

“No, it doesn’t. Apparently he was babbling something about a missing few hours. But you’ll have to talk to him about that. He escaped custody shortly after we found him, only leaving you this note.” She pushed a small piece of paper towards Curt without looking up. Curt grabbed it quickly and moved to leave the office. “Be careful with that one,” Cynthia said quickly, with a tone that surprised Curt – it sounded almost like she was worried about him. “Unless you can be sure he’s changed, he’ll break your heart again.”

Curt nodded dumbly, opened his mouth to say something and then thought again and closed it. He backed out of the room slowly and closed the door behind him, Cynthia’s words repeating themselves in his head.

Unless you can be sure he’s changed, he’ll break your heart again.


	5. A Note With A Kiss

Curt’s car was parked outside the Agency, and he found the keys in his pocket – typical Cynthia. Once inside, he pulled the scrunched note from his pocket and smoothed it out on his leg. It had clearly been written in a hurry, as in scrawled handwriting, the note read a single sentence:

_The second place you think to look ~ O.C. x_

Once Curt had got over the excitement that Owen had left him a kiss, he tried to think of the first place he would look for him. England? Curt knew Owen’s hometown had been somewhere just outside London, but he had never been there personally. Besides, Owen had told him to look in the second place he thought of… His eyes skimmed over the note, and it suddenly occurred to him that Owen never signed with his initials (he didn’t sign at all) because he was so careful about giving information away to the wrong people… So what did O.C. stand for? A place?

Of course! Their first mission together had been in Orange, California.

“Damn you’re a good spy,” Curt said out loud.

“Don’t you know it,” came a voice from behind him. “And you, apparently haven’t lost your touch...”

“Owen! What the hell?” Curt grinned, turning quickly in his seat.

Owen was sitting uncomfortably in the foot gap of the backseat, looking pale and slightly ill, but still managing a smirk.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. Are you going to drive or what?”

Curt furrowed his eyebrows, totally confused. “But what’s the point? You’re right here. Wait, what was the point of the note in the first place?”

“Oh, _Curt_ ,” Owen sighed, as if he was talking to a young child. “Don’t you know anything? Cynthia literally handed you that note. That means she’s already figured it out. She’s heading off to Orange right now.” He pointed out of the window at the butt of a car that was disappearing into the distance. “Look, just set off and I’ll explain on the way.”

Curt scratched the back of his head, but turned the key nonetheless and began to drive forwards. “How did you get in my car?”

Owen didn’t respond, but instead coughed loudly and rested his head against the headrest. His skin was the palest Curt had ever seen it, and his eyes had sunken rims around them, as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“Owen, when was the last time you slept? You look really sick.”

“Um… _sleep_ …?” Owen thought for a second, before having another bought of coughing. “About three days, I think. I’ve survived worse.”

“Three days?! Jesus Christ Owen, no wonder you look so sick. At least tell me you’ve eaten?”

“Oh, yeah I nipped down to the local grocery store,” he drawled dryly. “What do you think?” he croaked, wearily trying to summon some power into his voice. “I’ve been trying not to be seen.” Owen sighed and pushed himself up onto the back seats, taking care not to rise above the window.

“Owen. Sleep. Now. That’s an order.”

“You can’t give me orders, Curt.” Owen smiled pallidly. “But I suppose now I’m with you I feel safe enough… as long as your driving doesn’t kill me first.” Owen tailed off, and within a few seconds he was asleep. Curt had to resist the urge to take his eyes off the road and look at him through the rear-view mirror – even ill Owen’s slumbering face was enough to set his heart racing.

* * *

* * *

Curt drove for a few days, only stopping at intervals to check on Owen and to force-feed him titbits of food. As time dragged on, Curt became more and more worried about Owen, as he didn’t seem to be getting any better – in fact, his health seemed to be deteriorating. By the time Curt reached Orange, Owen was barely able to lift his head from the seat, and was only able to eat the little food he would accept while propped up on Curt’s knees. Despite his condition, Owen kept telling Curt to “Stop fussing” and that he would “be OK in a few days.” Curt wasn’t too sure. Whatever it was that was wrong with Owen, it certainly wasn’t something he could solve himself. He needed a doctor… the problem was, who could he trust?

Curt flicked through his friends mentally. At the moment he was trying to avoid Cynthia, so her and Susan were out of the question. Tatiana was in Russia at the moment, and Curt wasn’t sure how helpful she’d be anyway (she killed people for a living, and so didn’t often look back to check whether they needed medical help). That left one person: Barb.

Barb had about three PhDs – surely one of them had to be in medical science? Either way, she was his best shot, as long as he could get to her discretely.

Owen wasn’t going to like it, though. Help from an American agent… But he wasn’t really in a state to fight, and he really needed the help.

Owen gave a groan and rolled onto his side, still using Curt’s legs as a pillow. Twisting his fingers though Owen’s hair (that had grown out past his shoulders due to the lack of upkeep), Curt sighed. He put his head down and kissed the top of Owen’s head lightly, slightly scared that he would wake up, and then lifted Owen’s head from his lap and crawled back into the driver’s seat. He now had a plan.

Curt drove into the centre of Orange, plucked his tracker from his communicator and stuck it to the door of a particularly shabby motel called “Nights to Remember”. Curt was about to judge the title when he realised he did remember the night he had spent there with Owen. 

Pulling out his contact book, Curt walked over to a payphone and tapped in Barb’s number, carefully waiting for her voice to sound before he spoke.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Hi, Barb, it’s Curt.”

There was a sudden change in tone, as Barb’s (already squeaky) voice raised in pitch by at least a few semi-tones. “Oh… hi Curt… what’re – what’re you up to?”

“Hey listen, Barb,” Curt continued, oblivious to the change. “Where are you right now? I need to meet up… but only if you’re not at the Agency.”

“Um… yeah, sure. Curt, where have you been? Wait, why not at the Agency? Has this got something to do with you _misplacing_ your tracker?” Barb’s voice suddenly cracked with a slight tone of worry. “Are you being safe?”

Curt glanced through the car windows at Owen, who had become slightly restless and was trying to turn over on the back car seats, clearly forgetting he wasn’t on a bed. _Was_ he being safe? Curt was suddenly filled with the uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Was it really fair of him to bring Barb into this – she was such a loyal agent, and he was trying to get her to break the rules. Curt knew that if he asked her, Barb would help him, but if he did he would be being a bad friend. But if he _didn’t_ , was he being a bad friend to Owen?

“Curt, are you still there?” she asked, her voice crackling slightly over the payphone speaker.

“Yeah… I’m here. Sorry…” Curt said, coughing uneasily. “Look, Barb, I need to ask something of you… But if I do, I need to know you really trust me. Because it could get you in trouble. But – but Barb… it’s really… it would mean a lot to me if you helped…” he glanced at Owen again and gulped.

“Curt, are you OK?” Now the fear was completely evident in her voice. Barb wasn’t used to this side of Curt – the side that only came out in panic (Barb had only seen it once before when Curt had been covered in his own blood).

“I’m OK… I’m OK.” Curt wasn’t convincing anyone. “Barb, I don’t feel comfortable explaining this over the telephone… anyone could be listening. Do you think we could meet somewhere? Like…”

“You’re in Orange County, right?”

“Yeah.”

“OK, I know just the place. I’m coming to you. My dad lived in Orange, so I used to go there every summer. I know it by heart.” Barb proceeded to give Curt an address, which he jotted down quickly in his notepad, hoping he hadn’t missed anything. Once he had rounded up the phone call with Barb, he got back in the car and drove to the address, stopping on the way to attach his tracker (which Barb had clearly been following) to a random house.

The address Barb had given him wasn’t easy to find, as the town it was located in was in total disrepair. Wrecked and hollow houses lined the cracked, dusty streets of what used to be Reansham. Nobody could possibly be living here anymore. It was clear to Curt that the small town had once been a place of life and community: shredded pieces of bunting, like ivy, strangled the few standing beams of crooked houses, and a large, grimy banner hung from what looked like a sheriff’s hut, reading something illegible. But something sad had happened here – something that had torn this community apart. 

As Curt drove further into town, the state of the buildings improved slightly. He wondered if perhaps this was because the housing had become brick and was stronger naturally (nonetheless, the buildings looked abandoned and far from safe).

Eventually Curt found the place he was looking for, and got out of the car (checking instinctively on Owen as he closed the door). To his surprise, he found himself staring up at a boarded-up old diner, feeling intently interested about Barb’s past.

The chalk-coloured walls of the diner were layered with the same orange dust that covered the rest of the town. But the thing that caught Curt’s eye was the door. Scraped hurriedly below the peeling gold paint that named it _Danny’s Diner_ was a single word, and below that a dark brown stain. Curt traced his fingers across the branched letters, frowning deeply.

The message was explicit; the letters read: “snitch” _._


	6. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter contains moderate violence.

Owen:

Owen woke with a start.

The harsh sound of raised voices was penetrating through the fog of sleep – it sounded like arguing between a man and a woman. After a few moments Owen was able to work out that the male voice belonged to Curt, and the woman sounded familiar too, however he couldn’t quite place it.

Owen felt the creaking of floorboards near him, and noticed that the voices were getting closer. Although they were still arguing, they had quietened to a raised whisper, worried perhaps that they would wake Owen up. Opening his eyes just a fraction, Owen was able to see Curt’s face (which was looking slightly uptight) and standing in front of him, with her back to Owen was a woman. She was short and slim with blonde hair in a tight bun. Owen also noticed her intriguing dress sense, making a delighted mental note that her sequin neon green shoes were particularly spectacular, although not very fit for undercover work.

Owen listened intently to their conversation, trying not to move too much.

“Barb, I didn’t know who else to call—”

“So you thought it was OK to make me betray Cynthia?” The woman (who Curt had called Barb) went suddenly quiet, as though in realisation. “If I help you I will have betrayed the whole agency…”

“I’m really sorry, but Barb I—”

“What I don’t get is why you would do this for _Owen_. Why is he worth so much to you?”

“Because he was my partner – my best friend.” Curt hesitated, and Barb took the opportunity to cut in.

“But he killed a bunch of people!! He wanted to remove everyone’s privacy – to rip apart our Agency!”

Curt coughed nervously, and Owen winced mentally, realising how all of that sounded in a sentence. “OK, well the last two are true… although I don’t think he feels like that anymore. And he didn’t kill those people – actually, he kind of saved them…”

Barb sighed, and paused for the longest few seconds in history. “Alright… I’ll help him. But I’m not doing this for him – Owen Carvour is nothing to me, except what he means to you.”

Curt’s voice filled with a desperate sort of happiness, and Owen could hear that he had pulled her into a hug. “Thank you, Barb. Thank you so much.”

Barb:

Being back in Reansham wasn’t easy for Barb. The whole place looked like a grimy snapshot of the life she had left behind when she had joined the Agency. Everything had happened so suddenly back then.

Barb knelt down next to Owen, grabbing a glass thermometer from her bag.

“I know you’re awake,” she grumbled, turning him onto his side and attempting to stick the thermometer in his mouth. Owen’s eyes shot open.

“Get off me!’ he squealed, batting her arm away.

Barb raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to do it?” She handed the thermometer to Owen who attempted to sit up, but ended up slumping back to where he started.

“Fine,” he growled, “you do it.”

Barb placed the thermometer in his mouth and waited for a minute. When she removed it, the bar read a whopping 41°C. Biting her lip, she asked Owen to remove his shirt so she could check for any sign of rashes or redness. After examining his eyeballs, ears, tonsils and urine (she was used to the dirty jobs as you have to work you way up in science) she was at a total loss as to what it could be. Since he wasn’t vomiting it ruled out a lot of illnesses, especially since his lack of appetite suggested he should be (“It’s not that I couldn’t eat food – I still feel hungry – I just could give or take it. Stop nagging me.”). 

After half-an-hour, Barb was forced to report back to Curt the bad news.

“Look, I just don’t know what it is. He seems… fine. Maybe he’s just over-tired? I’m sorry Curt, I’m just at a total loss…”

“But he’s clearly not OK,” Curt frowned, raising an eyebrow to a totally passed-out Owen on the floor, who had managed to fall asleep with his tongue lolling out.

Barb shook her head in response and sighed. “I suppose all we can do is wait. If he doesn’t get better, then I think you might have to…”

“I am _not_ handing him in to Cynthia!” Curt boomed, and then winced. “Sorry, it’s just, for all I know, it was Cynthia who did this to him.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s beyond her…” Barb pulled a face, remembering all the times Cynthia had poisoned her just to make sure she would make a remedy quickly enough for Cynthia to take it away with her. Clearly Curt agreed with her, as he was wincing too, maybe thinking of similar near-death experiences that were also inflicted by Cynthia.

“Lets just focus on the getting better part,” Curt gulped, looking suddenly pale. “And if he doesn’t… well, we’ll cross that bridge if we have to… and hope it doesn’t fall from underneath us… into a chasm of fire and darkness and hopelessness…” Curt tailed off, looking at a spot in the distance with crazed expression.

Barb paused, frowning. “I don’t think that’s the metaphor…”

Owen:

The last thing Owen remembered was Barb telling him to stick out his tongue, although, he didn’t remember putting it back in again…

As Barb’s voice faded into nothingness, Owen closed his eyes, expecting to find peace beneath the heavy darkness of sleep. But behind his eyelids, there was no peace to be found. As soon as he closed his eyes he became trapped in a kind of spinning blackness – he was falling – falling – falling… But it wasn’t blackness anymore. Now Owen could make out images – memories of his childhood; of his first days as a spy; of Curt… But something was wrong – these memories were twisted – colder – these weren’t the memories he remembered…

A picture came into focus behind Owen’s eyes – he recognised it as his first date with Curt (although they hadn’t been allowed to call it that openly – “It’s boys’ night out”).

_Highland Park was the most beautiful place in Texas at midnight. Owen sat down on the bench and watched as Curt returned with two coffees. Tapping the spot beside him, Owen expected Curt to sit down, and was therefore surprised when Curt placed the coffees on the ground and pulled Owen from his seat._

_“You can’t sit below a tree…” he grinned. “You’re missing the full view.”_

_Hand in hand, Curt led Owen to the centre of the park, and lay down in the grass. Owen grumbled, but Curt pulled him to the ground anyway, and shuffled over so their heads were touching, staring up at the sky._

_Wisps of cloud drifted through the navy darkness, and the two mens’ breath hung before them as warm steam, battling the icy air. Owen moved his hand onto Curt’s chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. A warm sensation travelled through him, first in his fingers, which were now twisting around in Curt’s collar, and soon throughout his whole body._

_The stars above them poked through the blackness, twinkling timidly, as though scared to reveal their dance to the world._

_It was in that moment that Owen knew he wanted to be with this man forever._

_Ripping his eyes away from the scene above them, Owen turned to face Curt. It was a though a spark had been lighted in the pit of his belly, a spark that was only growing stronger with every second he looked at Curt. Tentatively, he moved his hand to rest on Curt’s cheek, at which point Curt turned to look at him. Something flickered inside his amber eyes, something that made Owen’s stomach do somersaults. As the flame inside Owen roared upwards, he leaned in, feeling Curt’s soft lips press against his, and his hand slip behind his neck. It felt as though every neurone in his body was firing at once, like fireworks lighting up the sky._

_Something soft and cold landed on Curt’s cheek and Owen glanced quickly up at the sky, breaking into a wide grin._

_“Hey Curt, it’s snowing!” he beamed, putting out his hand to grab a handful of snowflakes._

_Curt watched him happily, before burying his face in Owen’s neck for warmth. In that moment everything was perfect – the two men had forgotten about the world around them; the pressures they faced daily from their sexuality and like, from saving the world…_

Looking back, Owen wished everything could have stayed as it was in that moment, and the precious time that followed.

But something was happening to the memory now… it was warping – falling in on itself – it was changing… The memory was replaying, but something was different now as though the world had been painted over with translucent film.

_Curt placed the coffees on the ground and pulled Owen from his seat, and suddenly all Owen could think about was the coffees. Curt had abandoned them, just like he had abandoned him._

_“You can’t sit below a tree…” he grinned. “You’re missing the full view.”_

_Curt led Owen to the centre of the park, and lay down in the grass. Owen grumbled, glancing at the abandoned coffees, but Curt pulled him to the ground anyway, and shuffled over so their heads were touching, staring up at the sky. Owen swore he could feel a vein pulsing in Curt’s head… there was something wrong… something so so wrong…_

_Gnarled fingers of cloud crawled across the navy sky, and the two mens’ breath hung in the air, stifling Owen like a thick duvet in the summer. For some reason, he was blaming Curt… somehow he felt an overwhelming bitterness towards him, which was only growing._

_It was in that moment that Owen knew he would hate this man forever._

_Ripping his eyes away from the scene above them, Owen turned to face Curt. It was a though a spark had been lighted in the pit of his belly, a spark that was only growing stronger with every second he looked at Curt. Tentatively, he moved his hand to rest on Curt’s cheek, at which point Curt turned to look at him. Something flickered inside his amber eyes, something that made Owen’s stomach do somersaults. It made Owen sick with hatred. As the flame inside Owen roared upwards, he leaned in, feeling his hand slip around Curt’s neck. Curt choked and struggled, batting Owen away, but Owen didn’t loosen his grip, instead it got tighter._

_In that moment everything was perfect – the two men had forgotten about the world around them; the pressures they faced daily…_

And then the memory was collapsing in on itself and Owen was falling… falling into unconsciousness.


	7. Silence in Reansham

Curt:

Over two weeks had passed since Barb had said she didn’t understand what was wrong with Owen, and his condition hadn’t seemed to improve. It was funny how things quickly became routine in _Danny’s Diner._ Curt and Barb would wake up with the sun and would spend the day nursing Owen (this generally consisted of Barb ordering Curt to do things and Curt complaining), finding food from the abandoned and ultimately now wild citrus grove that grew around the town, and making sure they hadn’t been seen.

At 5pm each evening it had also become custom for Barb to take a walk on her own. Curt hadn’t asked where she was going, as he didn’t want to pry, but as the week went on, he began to become increasingly concerned (I know, Curt was concerned about Barb) about how solitary and quiet she had become. As the days grew shorter, Curt saw less and less of Barb, as she gave him a job almost the second they were in a room together.

One evening, however, Curt got his answer. He had been out particularly late collecting oranges, when he heard the faint sound of sobbing, coming from somewhere in the distance. He traced the sound through the trees until he came to a clearing near the edge of the town. It wasn’t until he had reached the treeline that he noticed that the clearing was in fact a churchyard. Curt’s eyes scanned across the graves, not quite sure what he was looking for.

Something sank in Curt’s chest as his eyes came to rest on a small blonde bob, and attached to it, a girl who was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the clearing. Her face was tucked behind her hands, attempting now to stifle the sobs that were still gargling from her mouth.

Dropping his oranges, Curt swore under-his-breath, and knelt to the ground trying desperately to find them all again (when you’re living off of a diet of citrus, you become pretty passionate about your food collecting). With his hands successfully full of oranges, he stood up, only to swear even more loudly, as he walloped his head on a heavy tree branch and ultimately dropped them all again. Curt groaned and knelt to pick them up for a second time.

Biting his lip, Curt emerged from the treeline and started to walk towards Barb, however sensing the movement, Barb jumped up from her spot and pointed her gun in the rough direction of Curt, firing a few shots accidently. Curt screamed slightly, and dropped his oranges (“seriously?!”) and Barb jumped like a frightened cat, the gun falling from her hands as though it was on fire. Luckily none of the bullets had hit Curt (or Barb, considering her technique), however Barb’s face went as red as a beetroot in guilt.

“Curt! I’m so sorry!” she winced. “I thought you were someone else! I’m sorry, I’m just so jumpy.”

Curt frowned and shook his head, the hint of a smile on his face. “It’s OK,” he laughed, “although I think maybe you shouldn’t carry one of these from now on.” He motioned to the gun and Barb gulped.

“I have to in case…” she trailed off biting her lip. “It doesn’t matter.”

Curt approached her, looking worried. “Barb, is everything OK? I don’t want to be rude or anything, but… you haven’t seemed yourself lately. I mean, I barely see you at all.”

Barb attempted a smile, which really looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she forced, “You know me, I’m just being extra careful.”

Frowning, Curt walked closer towards her, attempting to see what was behind her, but Barb moved in his way. Curt’s voice now carried a slight tone of aggravation. “Barb, what are you hiding from me? Does this have something to do with what’s written on the door?”

“Why would it be to do with that?” she snapped, shocking Curt with her tone. She looked at the ground, tears coming into her eyes again and sighed. “I’m sorry, I just… thought I’d left Reansham behind me.” Barb paused slightly and then sighed, moving out of the way slowly. Behind her was a single grave, marked “DANNY LAVERNOR, AGE 42”

Sitting down on the dry grass, Barb beckoned for Curt to do likewise. There was something melancholic about the tone of her voice that Curt had never heard before. She closed her eyes, sighed, and then looked him in the eyes.

“Curt, I lied to you.”

Barb paused, considering how to continue from there. “Do you remember when you found out that The Deadliest Man Alive was actually Owen?”

“Yep. Yeah, that’s pretty hard to forget.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, when you told me what had happened with Chimera, I acted ignorant. I pretended I knew nothing about Chimera, that I’d never heard of it before but… that was a lie.”

“Yeah but, isn’t it your job to find out about stuff like that?” Curt queried. “Why would you lie?”

“Curt, you know that isn’t my job!” She paused for a second, shaking her head incredulously. “My job is to make equipment for exceedingly ungrateful spies. I just find things out for you because you’re too lazy.” She clenched her jaw, sighed deeply and then continued. “No. I lied because otherwise I would’ve had to explain to everyone _why_ I knew about Chimera. And that’s not a story that’s easy to tell…”

* * *

* * *

Owen:

Owen’s eyes snapped open. He was lying on the ground, trembling slightly, and drenched in cold sweat. Peeling off his soaked-through clothes, Owen started to remember his dream, and a shiver of worry pulsed through him. It was so vivid – was it even a dream? Why would he want to hurt Curt…? Unless…

At that moment Curt, followed by Barb, burst through the door, wearing excited expressions.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed. He looked Owen up and down, frowning slightly and then shrugged. Barb blushed bright red and looked at the ground.

Owen gave a half-hearted nod, and slumped up against the wall. “Yeah, almost. Although, no thanks to you, apparently.” He nodded at Barb coldly.

“Well, yeah. But I’m not a doctor… I got Barb to help because I thought she would be better at…” Curt shook his head, exasperated. “It doesn’t matter.”

At that moment, Barb, who had been hiding in the doorway, came forwards, blushing slightly. “Sorry, this seems like an important conversation…I just thought I would mention now,” she gritted her teeth slightly, keeping her eyes towards the ground, “Owen, you haven’t got any clothes on.”

Suddenly in realisation of his nakedness, Owen blushed bright red, and threw himself towards the blanket in the corner of the room. Wrapping it tightly around his lower half, Owen looked back up at Curt, just quickly enough to catch him sniggering.

“Curt, you could have said something,” Owen growled.

“Oh, but I was quite enjoying it. And I did think it was amusing that you hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, since you’re _all-observant_ , I would have thought you’d have noticed, I’m pretty out-of-it.” Owen clenched his teeth, and a vein pulsed in his temple.

“You seem much better though,” Barb cut in. “Like… _really_ quickly.” She thought for a second, and then an idea seemed to come to her. “Did you wake up really suddenly?” she asked.

Owen wore a smile as a mask, but something behind it flickered with worry. “Yes, it was quite traumatic really.”

“Were you dreaming about something really vivid?” she pushed, now looking equally as worried.

Owen paused for a second, thinking about his dream – the abandoned coffees, the dreary sky, and the cold, impassive feeling in the pit of his belly as he had strangled the life out of Curt, driven only by a fierce anger he couldn’t escape.

“Nope.” Owen lied, “I wasn’t dreaming. Although I wish I had been – it would have made the whole experience more interesting.”

Barb shrugged, but Owen could tell she wasn’t fully buying it.

“Well, it’s nice to have you back, Agent Carvour. Even though we… never had you on our side in the first place.”

“You can call me Owen,” he winked. A confused look swept over Barb’s face for a second, and then she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

Once she was out of earshot, Owen grinned to Curt, “I think she likes me. Maybe as much as she likes you.”

Curt scoffed and fell to the ground next to him. “She doesn’t like me… Not like _that_.”

Owen shook his head. “Curt, sometimes I wonder why you became a spy. You’re not exactly observant.”

Pouting, Curt reached out and touched Owen’s hand, which he snapped away quickly. Upon physical contact, Owen’s mind raced with memories of the dream making his mouth go dry, but seeing Curt’s quite readable expression, Owen forced himself to weave his fingers inside Curt’s.

There was a moment of silence, and then Curt spoke. “I don’t suppose you remember much from that time at the bar…”

“ _The bar_ ,” Owen rolled his eyes, resting his head gently against the wall. “Curt we’re spies, you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“You know, the one with the cute bartender you kept gawking at. The one who gave us all those cool drinks? Wow, we’re really hard-core. We must’ve got through twenty of those bad boys. What were they called again?”

“Shirley Temples. And I am never having one again. They made my stomach go all funny. Not to mention the missing two hours and thirty-seven minutes.”

“Care to be any more specific?”

“Two hours, thirty-seven minutes and forty-four seconds.”

There was a sound behind the door and Barb poked her head around. The men quickly released their hands. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening, but… do you think you were drugged. I mean, if someone had slipped something in your drinks slowly throughout the night, it would’ve given the impression of drunkenness. You might not have even noticed the effect yourselves.”

“The cute bartender!” Owen exclaimed. “That’s why he looked so shifty… I mean — I mean… she. That’s why _she_ looked so shifty…”

Curt and Owen looked at each other and then back at Barb who looked confused. For a genius she looked confused a lot.

“Wow, he must be really out-of-it.” Curt coughed, nudging Owen who drooped slightly like a wilted flower. For a spy, it wasn’t the best of acting.

“Could you describe the bartender?” Barb asked, grabbing a pad of paper from the corner of the room that contained all of her “nerdy designs”, as Curt called them. “It might help us track down Chimera.”

Curt gulped, picturing the 6ft 2 hunk who had served them that night.

“She was very… muscly.”

Barb raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Owen closed his eyes despairingly, trying to suppress a smile. “And she had a lot of tattoos…”

“And…?” Barb pushed.

“She had lots of… _hair_?”

Barb shook her head incredulously. “Like, on her head, I’m assuming?”

“On her face...”

Owen choked on a laugh and turned his face away so that no one would notice. This tactic wasn’t particularly effective however, as Barb thought he was choking, and jumped towards him suddenly, hitting him repeatedly on the back.

Now it was impossible to hold the laughter in (possibly because air was being forced out of his mouth by Barb) and Owen rolled onto his back, crying with laughter. Curt, catching on that Owen wasn’t dying, couldn’t help but get the giggles, and soon the two men were rolling around on the ground, stuck in a continuous cycle of laughter, setting each other off with their weird laughs. Barb looked very confused, and slightly perturbed.

“Would you please take this seriously?!” she screeched, and the two men fell silent quickly. “Chimera is out there right now, plotting to kill all of us, and you can’t even give me one decent description of the woman who drugged you!” Curt giggled and Barb shot him a look that could kill, forcing him to look guiltily at the ground. “Now, I don’t know what it is that’s making you laugh so much. But whatever it is, I’m guessing it’s not more important than finding out what happened to you.” Barb got up and walked towards the door. “Once you grow up, I’ll be in the kitchen, figuring out how not to die.” At that, she stormed off, leaving Owen and Curt kneeling with their eyes guiltily to the floor, and the trace of a smile on their lips.

* * *

* * *

_Five hours later…_

Everything was still in Reansham at midnight. The stars watched lazily over this abandoned town: the dusty banners and tumbled-down buildings, and the scruffy diner that had once been the centre of all life. Not a sound disturbed the peaceful eeriness, nor a light the perfect blackness, until two minutes past midnight, when a dark car rolled up outside the imperfect diner door.

In silent harmony, six sets of boots made contact with the ground and began towards the front door. Pushing it ajar, they crept inside, listening intently to the sound of gentle breathing. Towards the sound they walked, until they stood above Owen Carvour, staring down at him with their dark black eyes. There was something unnatural about these women, as though their blood had been mixed with liquid nitrogen, and their souls trapped in a disturbing nightmare.

Slowly, the women retrieved pouches from their belts, and held them out in front of them. They knelt towards Owen, opening the clasps.

A million centipedes burst from the pouches, in seconds covering every inch of Owen’s skin. Owen’s eyes shot open as he let out a harrowing scream, and thousands of centipedes crawled into his mouth. Jumping to his feet, Owen squirmed, flailing his arms in the air as though on fire. In the background, Owen could hear worried voices, calling something, but he couldn’t make out what. And now the centipedes had Curt’s face, grinning at him as they started to bury into his skull. Owen screamed in terror, as the women opened their mouths and more and more centipedes scurried out, covering the floor, covering…

“Owen! OWEN!!”

The world faded into view, and Owen became aware that Curt and Barb were holding each of his shoulders, trying to pin down his flailing arms. Their faces were grave with worry, and Curt was panting as though he had been struggling with Owen for a few minutes.

“W-what’s going on? What’s happening?” Owen stammered, sweat glistening on his neck and forehead.

Curt looked bewildered. “What do you mean?! You just _freaked out_!”

“There were women… they had… there were… there were centipedes all over me…” Owen coughed, sinking to the ground, tears glistening in his eyes.

Curt had never seen him like this, and felt terrified. “Centipedes?”

“Yeah, I’m terrified of them,” Owen gulped, crossing his arms in an attempt to stifle the trembling. Owen looked desperately at a thoroughly shaken Barb. “What’s happening to me?”

Barb’s lip trembled slightly, but she didn’t respond. Either she was as clueless as the rest of them, or didn’t want to share the knowledge she had.

“What’s happening to me?!” Owen roared, grinding his teeth like an unoiled machine.

Barb opened her mouth, but it wasn’t words that came out. Suddenly something was off-kilter again, and it felt like the room was spinning. A realisation came to Owen that terrified him: what if the bad version of the coffee memory _was_ the real one? What if he had never been in love, but Curt had done something – had twisted his memories somehow?

Anxiety was rising in Owen’s throat like bile, and his nostrils flared. Suddenly he was questioning everything that was good about his life, and coming to some terrifying conclusions.

Curt and Barb were shouting things at him now, but he didn’t know what they were saying. All he could hear was whirring and grinding, scuttling and hissing. A low boom shook his eardrums, and then seconds later he was sure he could hear what dogs can hear. The noises were driving him insane. He was insane. He was going insane. If only there was a way to make the noises stop, to somehow ease his suffering.

And then it went silent.


	8. A Little Scary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I introduce a character in this chapter from a StarKid musical. You don't need to know who this character is to understand this chapter or any of the chapters to come (that's why the fanfic isn't marked as a crossover)! :)

Curt:

Lifting a fully-grown man into a car was no easy feat, especially when he was wriggling.

Curt placed one arm around Owen’s back, and the other behind his kneecaps. With a sharp inhale of breath he lifted him from the ground, straining from the weight. Barb opened the car door ahead of him, allowing Curt to quickly place Owen in the back seats before his muscles failed him. Owen twisted and turned on the seats, as though he couldn’t get comfortable. Sweat clung to him in every possible place, and his shirt was soaked through – Curt dreaded to think what was going on his head right now.

Before he could ask her where she was going, Barb had bolted towards the door, returning a few minutes later with a rucksack so full it looked as though you could simply prod it with a piece of straw and its contents would burst out of the top.

“Get in!” she yelled at Curt, jumping towards the driver’s seat. Curt slipped into the passenger’s seat, quickly. Curt had barely got his right foot in to the car before Barb had revved the engine and was speeding out of Reansham. Curt wondered where the hell she was taking them, but couldn’t formulate the words.

As though reading his mind, Barb answered his question. “I’m sorry, I know I didn’t have time to explain. I have this friend – he was my tutor for a while at the academy, before he… well… let’s just say he doesn’t get many visitors…”

“Barb! Get to the point!”

“Right, yeah… Sorry. He was my tutor at the academy, and knows all about weird infections. Maybe he can cure Owen? I don’t know… but it’s our best shot.”

“What’s his name?” Barb sighed as though she hadn’t heard the question. “Barb?!”

“What? Oh, right… His name’s Professor Hidgens. And he’s a little scary.”

* * *

* * *

Cynthia:

Suddenly a little blip appeared on Cynthia’s screen. At first she didn’t notice it (because she was distracted by her new shirt that she’d had specifically embroidered across the chest “I’m going to rip your eyes out you fucking perv”), but then the little red blob caught her eye and she screamed.

“SUSAN!!”

Susan came running in, expecting a life-threatening situation, and looked strangely disappointed at the reality. Cynthia pointed aggressively to the blip on the screen.

“You found them,” Susan inhaled.

“Just leaving Orange. They must have moved into a populated area and been bugged by one of my spyeyes.”

“My bet’s on Postman Patton.”

“Postman Patton will have a knighthood. Mega seems to be heading upstate and towards the coast.”

“Mega, Carvour and Lavernor are approaching a docking bay called…”

“WHAT?!”

“What?” Susan looked confused and slightly nervous.

“NO ONE TOLD ME THE FUCKING SCIENTIST WAS ON BOARD!!”

“I thought… I thought I said…”

Cynthia put on a whiney voice, mimicking Susan. “ _I thought_ … I-I-I’m a little _idiot_.”

Susan looked hurt and turned back to the screen. “Cynthia,” he said slowly, “they’re not just approaching the coast, it looks like they’re actually leaving land. They’re heading towards some island.”

“Let me see.” Cynthia clenched her teeth and then looked away from the screen. “Well, I guess we’re going on vacation.”


	9. Gasp

Barb:

Professor Hidgens would have the answers. That’s what Barb kept telling herself. If he didn’t… Well, if he didn’t, Barb wouldn’t know what to do.

Henry had always looked out for her – since the moment she’d joined the academy, aged nine. Barb had been told that after her parents died the authorities had been in the process of sending her to an orphanage, when an anonymous source suggested her for the academy. Due to her high IQ, Barb was accepted.

On the first day, Barb met Hidgens, who had instantly warmed to her. After a day of teaching her, Hidgens decided to take her in, and from that moment on, had practically raised her, making it his mission to teach Barb as much as humanly possible, from medicine to biotech.

Barb pulled up to the large metal gates that fronted Hidgens’ fortress. She noticed that Curt looked a little worried, and kept glancing at the back, as though he expected Owen to have disappeared… or worse.

“Curt, he’s going to be fine,” Barb reassured, hoping that what she said was true. “Hidgens will be able to help him…”

Curt coughed nervously, giving her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure you’re right…”

Curt:

Henry Hidgens looked young for his age. Although his hair had started to grey prematurely, there was something youthful about the glow of his face, which told Curt that this man had an end game. Curt glanced around at Hidgens’ room; papers and folders lined the floor in no clear pattern, and there was something dense about the air, as though it had been trapped there for quite some time. Curt wondered when the last time was that Hidgens had opened a window.

There was no blackboard in Hidgens’ study, although Curt thought it would have been useful. Mathematical equations and seemingly unconnected words patterned the walls. In places, where the sickly yellow wallpaper had peeled off, Curt could see the outlines of further passionate decoration. Curt gulped; this guy was loony.

Barb coughed gently and Hidgens spun around quickly.

“Ah, my dear Barb! You’re just in time – I just figured out another theory… Singing aliens! I have a really _good_ feeling about this one.”

Barb raised an eyebrow and sat down on the stool in front of him. Still slightly agitated, Curt followed her lead and pulled up a chair. “You must be Curt?” Hidgens smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’ve heard all about you. Barb talks non-stop about you, actually. You must’ve really made an impre—”

“—Professor!” Barb interrupted through gritted teeth. “I think what you were going to say is, you’ve heard all about Curt because it’s _impressive_ how often he needs my help.”

“Right, yes. Help… You realise, I’m not a medical doctor?”

“Honestly, right now, you’re the best we’ve got,” Curt gulped. “Owen’s in the living room.”

Hidgens nodded and followed Curt to where Owen had been laid on the settee. He was covered in a three hot-pink blankets (courtesy of Curt), sleeping like a baby; under other circumstances, he would’ve looked very comfortable. But Owen’s skin was pale, and his eyes were sunken. Curt bit his lip, noticing the trace of a tear in the creases around his eyes. What was going on in his head?

* * *

* * *

After half an hour, Hidgens returned to his study to expectant faces.

“Well, I know what’s wrong with him,” Hidgens smiled, his eyes glinting.

Curt stood up rapidly, “Can you fix him?”

“Of course!” Hidgens grinned, but then his face fell. “But I’m not going to. That man deserves everything he got.”

“What do you mean?” Curt spat. “You don’t even know him.”

“Oh, don’t I?”

“Professor?” Barb whispered.

Hidgens sighed a long, deep sigh and walked towards his desk. The two spies followed his movements as he sat down at his desk chair and did a 360˚ spin. “I know secrets about that man that would make you gasp… well, at least, that would make Barb gasp. You, on the other hand, Curt. Well, you’ve explored parts of that man that none of us want to think about. Let’s just say… Owen was the one gasping.”

Barb looked at Curt and cocked her head. Behind her eyes the cogs were whirring. “Curt, what does he mean?”

Curt bit his lip, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. “I have no idea. And even if I did, that shouldn’t be your focus right now.”

Barb clenched her teeth. “No. Because it’s always about you, isn’t it?” she growled. “I thought, for once, you would trust me enough to tell me the truth. But even now, after everything I’ve done, I’m still second best. I’m _always_ second best! Why? Why do you always choose Owen? Why do you never choose _me_?!”

Curt turned to face her, warm blood coursing through his veins, blushing at his cheeks. “You know why.”

Silence.

Barb looked at the ground.

Hidgens shifted uneasily, clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything.

After what felt like a millennia Barb spoke, only it wasn’t to Curt. She cast her gaze from the floor to Hidgens, who had been keeping extremely quiet throughout the exchange. Her eyes flared. “We can’t help those we love." She paused. "But we can _help_ ,” she turned to look at Curt, “those we love.”


	10. The Central Button

Owen:

_Nine minutes earlier…_

The world lit up around Owen, as though a light had just been turned on in a dark room. Suddenly he could see. The mist in Owen’s mind drifted away in seconds, as he almost tricked himself into believing that the nightmares that had been tormenting his mind for the past weeks were merely that – nightmares. Thinking back, the only real thing Owen could remember about his dreams was that Curt had been the protagonist. Or at least the love interest. Owen’s heart fluttered as he thought about Curt, but somehow, even foggy memories of the dreams gave him an uneasy feeling.

Owen didn’t remember hearing anyone coming in, although they must have done – he smiled at the pink blankets that could only have been Curt’s contribution to his wellbeing. Someone rustled in the doorway, and Owen’s ears perked up. Pushing himself up onto his arms, Owen felt a stiff weakness come about him, almost like pins and needles. Owen’s arms dropped from under him, and he croaked something inaudible as the stiffness spread throughout his body. Slumping back onto the settee, Owen was as helpless as a newborn kitten, his eyes wide – being out of control like this was one of his greatest fears.

“Owen Carvour,” a sing-songy voice in the doorway smiled. “Nice to see you again. It’s a shame we have to keep meeting like this…”

Owen’s mind raced with about seventeen witty retorts, but his mouth refused to respond to him.

Hidgens gulped, watching Owen’s face go red in rage. “Ah, yes. Sorry about that. I know you’ve probably thought of something very clever to say. After all,” Hidgens mocked a British accent, “it’s incredible, what Owen Carvour can do with words.”

_Really? Thanks for enlightening me._ Owen’s sarcastic thoughts retorted.

Hidgens paused dramatically, and then took a seat on the chair next to Owen. “I really am so sorry I had to do this to you… “

_No you’re not._

“But otherwise I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise!” Hidgens sighed and patted Owen on the head awkwardly.

_Don’t pat me. I’m not a dog._

“You look kind of cute this way,” Hidgens cooed, tucking the blanket under his chin.

_Cute? CUTE! ...I can live with that._

“Look, I can’t just have my agents going around, frolicking with the enemy! Once I heard you’d teamed up with that Curt Mega, well… I knew what had to be done. I had to destroy him… you know, so you would come back to me.”

_Still got it._

_“_ I never told you this before, Owen… I was a little embarrassed really… but you mean a lot to me. I’ve actually written quite a few songs about it!”

_…?_

“Anyway, I figured, the best way to re-gain the loyalty of my best agent would be to… break you down and build you back up again. That’s why you’re going to kill Curt Mega.”

_I’m really not, though._

Hidgens started pacing. “Do you know what the limbic system is? It’s the part of your brain that controls memory and emotional functions… A few years ago, I sent you to a woman named Danny, who had been working on a neurological chip that could control this part of the brain. It’s all very sciency…”

Owen’s heart thudded like a funeral drum.

“The point is, this woman, she figured it out! If the chip was implanted, in theory, you could control people’s memories, their emotions… at least to an extent. Of course, the procedure would take a few hours… the patient would have to be unconscious.”

Owen thought back to the pub – his missing hours. He had trusted that hot bartender! But every Shirley Temple had been a death trap; drugging them both, a little at a time, so they wouldn’t notice.

And then they had implanted the chip in his head. Now it all made sense: the dreams, the visions – the random mood swings. They were controlling his fear, his memories; even his physical movement (Owen figured that that psychopath, Danny must’ve connected the chip to a few different parts of his brain, not just to the limbic system, and that’s how Hidgens had put him into a state of paralysis).

A single tear rolled down Owen’s cheek as he realised his fate. There was nothing he could do. For the first time in his life, he was totally and completely powerless, and he was about to lose the one thing he cared about most: Curt.

“Killing two birds with one Owen!” Hidgens lightly patted Owen’s cheek. “ _Finally_ I don’t have to worry about that _doofus_ , Curt – always stealing my thunder…” Hidgens did a little twirl out of his seat and then gently closed Owen’s eyes with his fingers. “See, now you could be sleeping. I better go and fetch _Agent_ Mega!”

At that, Hidgens bounced off, a grin plastered to his face like a child on the way to an ice-cream truck.

“Well, I know what’s wrong with him…” Owen heard from the other side of the door.

* * *

* * *

  
_Present Time_

Curt:

Curt wiped the sweat from his eyelids as he followed Barb (who was following Hidgens) into the room where the breathing corpse of Owen lay.

So still.

Curt sat on the ground next to him, caressing his cheek in his hand. Slowly, he rested his forehead against Owen’s, speaking low so no one else could hear.

“Owen…” he breathed, his voice shaking. “I just want you to know… because… because I’ve never been able to say this properly… I just want you to know that I love you. I love you like the stars and the sunrises, like those amazing multi-coloured roses we found in Greece – like all the cheesy crap you can think of… I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else, and never will. So, please, if you feel the same… don’t die on me. Don’t you dare.”

From the corner of the room there was a sharp intake of breath, but Curt dismissed it, too caught up in intimacy.

A crystalline tear trickled from Owen’s closed eye, but the rest of him remained still. Curt frowned and bit his lip. It was as though Owen could hear him, but for some reason he wouldn’t – or couldn’t – move. Looking for an explanation, Curt turned towards Hidgens, but the question slipped from his mind as soon as he saw the gun.

There was no shake in Hidgens’ hand as he held the pistol up to Curt’s head; this guy was a professional.

From the corner of the room, Barb’s voice croaked, “Professor, don’t do this. _Please_ don’t do this! I—”

Hidgens held up his other hand for silence, and Curt took a deep breath. Slowly, Hidgens closed the distance between him and Curt. And then he stopped, the gun inches away from Curt’s head. Hidgens cocked his head and smiled.

“From this angle,” he sighed, “I can see why he likes you.”

Curt blushed at that, and then remembered the guy was holding a gun to his head. “Well… you’re just mean,” he huffed. “I’m… nice from every angle!”

Hidgens laughed and then did something very unexpected. Instead of shooting Curt, he knelt down next to Owen, and grabbed his hands. When he stood up, the gun was gone. Simultaneously seeing his vulnerability, Curt and Barb reached for their own guns, only to realise they were missing. Hidgens grinned, and no more was said.

“Why did you give the gun to Owen?” Curt demanded, wishing his voice wasn’t cracking with worry.

“And who even are you?” Barb added. Her lip quivered and she wiped her palms on her trousers. “I thought you were my friend.”

Hidgens looked at the ground and sighed, and then retrieved a strange metal disk from his pocket. “I think…” he smiled, “it’s easier if Owen explains.”

And then he pressed the central button.


	11. The Man In The Living Room

Owen’s eyes shot open, like an elastic band that had been held taught for weeks and then finally released. Curt had never seen him so panicked. Owen pointed the gun that had been placed in his hands at Hidgens, but he couldn’t pull the trigger – his face fell.

“Curt!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got to run! You’ve got to get away from me!”

Curt jumped backwards and then scrunched his face up in confusion. “What do you mean? Surely it’s Hidgens I’ve got to run away from?”

“No! Well, yes, him too. Look, it’s hard to explain. But you’ve got to trust me.”

“Ok… I trust you. But what do I have to trust you _about_?”

“That you can’t trust me!”

“What? _That’s just confusing!_ ”

Hidgens smirked, and turned to Barb, giving her a knowing look. Barb scowled, halfway between returning the look and punching him.

“Okay, boys, boys, settle down.”

The agents fell silent and Owen sneered. “I have nothing to say to you,” he growled. He pointed his finger coldly. “This man has done things…” he faltered, “this man has done things even you two wouldn’t believe… But I can promise you one thing: by the end of today, you will _both_ want to kill him.”

“Oh, come on, Owen – enough with the theatrics… as much as I’m a fan. Tell them who I _am_.” Hidgens grinned.

Owen sighed, glancing at Curt for support. “He’s the reason I joined Chimera. And the reason I left.”

“Hey, I thought I was the reason you left!” Curt pouted.

“I’m getting to that!” Owen rolled his eyes. “Boyfriends – so impatient.” He straightened up (ignoring the appearance of Curt’s cheek dimple at the word ‘boyfriend’) and looked Hidgens dead in the eyes. “In short, Henry Hidgens is the leader of Chimera. And he has a lot of explaining to do.”

Curt’s mouth fell open and Barb’s eyes widened as though she had just seen a ghost. Hidgens clapped his hands in excitement. “Their faces! So exciting!”

But Barb wasn’t finding this exciting. There was a moment of pause, as Barb clenched her teeth, and her nostrils flared. And then she put her head down and charged at Hidgens.

“Arrgghhh!” she screamed, punching him (feebly) in the stomach. “I,” _punch_ , “trusted,” _punch_ , “you!”

Hidgens looked down, unfazed, as Barb kept punching. He smiled pityingly, “And so you _should_... After all, we are family.”

That stopped her dead in her tracks. Curt looked on in amazement and Owen looked at the ground.

“What do you… what does that mean?” she stammered. “We’re not family. How are we family?”

Hidgens sighed, nodding slowly. “You know that anonymous person who recommended you for the Academy?”

Barb nodded, for once in her life, not understanding at all.

“That was me!” He waved his hand. “Hello!” He bit his lip. “See, after what happened to your mother and… well, the whole town actually, I knew they would never let me raise you. So I came up with a plan – to be your tutor! I got to be the father I always wanted to be, and you didn’t even know!”

Barb put her hand over her mouth, unable to produce any words.

Owen gritted his teeth, clenching the gun in his hand. “I’m afraid it doesn’t end there,” he gulped. “Actually, that’s kind of the nice bit.”

Barb spun around to face him, eyes wide. “You knew. This whole time?”

Owen nodded morbidly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. Besides… I was a little busy, dying.” Owen glanced at the slightly quivering gun in his hand, as though looking at a watch. “Hidgens hasn’t told you the whole truth,” his voice shook as he glanced between Barb and Curt nervously. “Chimera has hurt so many people. And it’s all because of him. Your mother was an agent too – fierce, but kind… Always so kind.” Owen turned on Hidgens, snarling. “And he took advantage of that. As soon as he got the information he wanted, he got rid of her. And anyone else who found out…” Owen looked into the distance melancholically. “Steve and Stu and Mark and Layton and…Chad.”

“No, not Chad…” Curt gulped, his lip quivering. “I knew Chad.”

Owen nodded morbidly. “When I found out, I tried to take over Chimera – that information was never worth all those lives. They were good people. And he murdered them. He killed them all, Barb. Your town. Your family.” He paused. “I still have nothing against Chimera, I didn’t want to betray them, but God knows I have something against that man,” he spat.

Owen’s blood boiled. Suddenly, his eyes burning with desperation, he raised the gun in his hands and pointed it directly at Hidgens’ head. Clenching his jaw tightly, he fell to his knees, unable to pull the trigger. “Why are you doing this?” Owen sobbed, dropping the gun. He was the only one who knew what was coming.

Curt moved towards him quickly, offering support, but Owen screamed at him. “Don’t! Don’t come near me! Just run! Please…” his voice cracked, “please, just run…”

Curt’s heart beat like a war-drum. He couldn’t leave Owen like this.

Owen looked into Curt’s misty eyes, and forced a smile. “What’s it going to take for you to trust me again?” he whispered. “What’s it going to take for you to truly believe that… I am in lo---?”

Hidgens hissed, slamming his hand onto the controller, and Owen dropped to the floor. Curt gasped, turning towards Hidgens.

“What did you do?” he exclaimed.

Hidgens smiled sadly. “I reminded him what it’s like to be betrayed by Agent Curt Mega.”

Owen jumped up and threw himself at Curt, his face contorted in concentrated rage. Something blazed behind his eyes as he grabbed Curt’s hair and thrust him to the ground. Jumping on top of Curt, he pressed his hands into his neck: squeezing, choking. Managing to free an arm, Curt elbowed Owen’s arm joint, and dove onto Owen’s chest, holding him down.

“What are you doing?” he screeched.

Owen growled, wordlessly, and kneed him in the groin. Curt fell to the floor in intense agony as Owen pounced and managed to get one hard punch in, before someone else joined the fight. In a quick flash of blonde, Barb hurled herself at Owen, scratching at him like a feral cat. Owen shoved her hard and she skidded across the room on her back. Once again on top of Curt, Owen’s fist made hard impact with his cheek.

* * *

* * *

Mind clouded. Memories confused.

Owen’s heavy brain fluttered. ‘ _Who even is Owen Carvour?’_ he thought.

His fist collided with Curt’s cheek, and blood spurted from his mouth.

The gun lying in the centre of the room watched with intense curiosity as each punch fell. It was so close. It would be so easy for Owen to just reach out…

The gun was in Owen’s hand, the barrel now against Curt’s head. He could pull the trigger. And then it would be all over.

But he didn’t want it to be over. Not yet.

Grinning sadistically, Owen smiled. “I want you to run,” he whispered.

Curt’s eyes widened in a million different types of terror. Owen liked that: his fear. With the barrel still pointed at Curt’s head, Owen backed away.

And Curt ran.

Through the lounge and the study, the ballroom and the music room, Owen chased him, until there was nowhere left to run. For Curt had made an error. A huge misjudgement: Curt hadn’t realised that the stairs he now flew down led to a basement. And there was nowhere else to go.

Curt stared into the dark room and then turned, slowly. He glanced up at Owen, who was half-way up the stairs, looking out-of-breath. Owen’s gun pointed towards Curt’s heart.

“So we’re back here again, are we?” Curt smiled. “The two men on the stairs… destined to break each other in every way imaginable.”

Déjà vu prickled across Owen’s spine. He gritted his teeth, unable to understand why he was hesitating. The hazy parts of his mind raced with a million reasons why he should hate Curt. But the clear part confused him even more. He remembered a situation just like this, only in reverse. Curt had held a gun to _his_ heart… So why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?

Curt sighed and bowed his head, waiting. Every second dragged on as the motion of Owen’s mind became more and more like a fly in treacle. And then Curt’s eyebrow twitched, and he looked up with a strange expression. “You’re really considering it, aren’t you?” he smiled, his voice quavering slightly.

Owen frowned, a realisation hiding from his consciousness like lost words on the tip of your tongue. Curt’s words echoed his own, he was sure of it. But what did they _mean_? If only he could remember why Curt hadn’t killed him when the roles were reversed. If only he could _understand_.

“How am I still alive?” Owen whispered, mostly to himself. “You shot me in the leg, why?” Curt paused and Owen stepped towards him, gun now only half a meter away. “I need to know why!”

“You know why!” Curt bellowed, and then, his voice faltering, “because… I…”

A vein pulsed at Owen’s temple, but Curt was sure that the blood pumping through it was boiling, not cold. This was false anger. “Owen, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what happened to you in there,” he gestured towards the dance room, “but _it’s not you_.” Curt stepped towards the gun, which didn’t falter. It was now only inches away from his heart. “You have to fight, Owen… and not because you’re a spy, or out of honour… you have to fight because… I don’t care what the world says. We have something special. We have something special, and no mad scientist is going to take it away from us…” He pulled a face, adding, “Especially since it’s Barb’s dad… That’s just embarrassing.”

Curt’s eyes locked with Owen’s and for just a second he swore he had seen the faintest trace of recognition shimmer across them.

And then Owen pulled the trigger.

***

Forty-Two Years Later (November, 2018):

Owen woke with a start. Something had broken his deep sleep – a clatter in the living room, followed by heavy footsteps. He looked around at the empty bedroom and sighed.

Groaning at the ache of his bones, he heaved himself out of bed and down the stairs, heading towards the living room. His body felt heavier than the old days, but his mind had gained a sort of clarity that rested his once-wearied soul.

Now outside the living room door, Owen could hear someone fiddling with the TV, and thought for a second that it might be burglars. But the familiar buzz of the TV turning on set his mind at ease, and he stepped into the living room to join its other occupant.

“What are you doing up?” Owen smiled, pushing the grit from his eyes so he could see the other man more clearly.

The man in the living room jumped and then exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Curt, after all this time, still hadn’t got used to Owen’s light-footedness.

“You need to stop jumping up on me like that!” he grinned. “You’ll give me a heart attack – and we both know that’s a genuine concern at our age…”

“Oh, you’re as fit as a horse,” Owen laughed, sitting down next to him and glancing at the TV, which was telling a bizarre story about a _Singing and Dancing Pandemic._ “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he smiled sadly. “I’ve seen so much, I guess, the least I can expect is a couple of nightmares.”

“Curt, that just means you’re a good man; a better man than me. I don’t have nightmares, and I ought to.”

Owen took his husband’s hand, and traced his fingers across the lines. Each one represented an ailment they had suffered together – but they had gotten through it, and he wouldn’t take back a single thing.

“Owen, you _are_ a good man,” Curt smiled, and then his eyes twinkled. “Apart from that one time when you shot me – that wasn’t very nice.”

“Oh, I shot you in the leg – don’t be such a pussy.”

“No one says pussy anymore—”

“—Do I look like I care?”

There was a pause as the two men shook their heads and Curt tried to stifle a giggle. It had hurt like crazy, but it had been totally worth it – when Owen had shot him in the leg, he had broken the connection in his head. It had taken a few years, a bit of surgery and a lot of therapy, but eventually Owen had realigned his thoughts. And Curt had been there the whole time to support him.

Curt looked up at the TV and sighed.

“What has spying come to?” he shook his head. “I mean, a Singing Contagion. Absolutely ridiculous – what happened to real missions? …Guns and excitement…”

“Yeah, but you were _rubbish_!” Owen cackled. “Do you remember when you helped fifty Russian spies across the border? Or that time you accidentally smuggled fifteen tons of cocaine?” Curt rolled his eyes and sighed, but that didn't stop Owen. “Oh, and I’ll never forget the way you let the leader of Chimera escape when you were _literally_ in his house – God knows what Hidgens is doing now.”

Curt pulled a face. “Ok, it sounds kind of bad when you say it like that… But in fairness, I _did_ take down Chimera… with a little help…”

“With a lot of help.”

Curt pouted and Owen ruffled his (still superbly luscious) hair. “But none of that matters,” he smiled. “You know that... You are perfect to me, Curt Mega.”

Curt blushed and looked into Owen’s twinkling eyes. He knew those eyes like he knew no others, and yet somehow, after all this time, Owen still managed to make his heart flutter.

He rested his head on Owen’s shoulder and felt his worries melt away into nothing, because nothing else mattered: for as long as he was next to him, he would always be totally and completely untouchable.


End file.
